


Bent but not broken

by cucumber_of_doom



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fisting, Anxiety Attacks, Arson, Depression, M/M, Not Season/Series 03 Compliant, Omega Matthew, Omega Will, Omega/Omega, Rimming, Slow Burn, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 11:16:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4519854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cucumber_of_doom/pseuds/cucumber_of_doom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will takes in a stray, restores a boat, adopts a dog and rediscovers his humanity along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bent but not broken

**Author's Note:**

> This work was an adventure from start to finish. It started as a short, smutty oneshot that suddenly grew a plot and then there were dogs. Somehow, over the course of more than 7 months, I managed to write 23k. It just kind of happened.

For Will happiness is the feeling of sun warmed sand beneath his toes, the sound of waves gently lapping up the shore, the smell of seawater wet dog fur and drying seaweed. Will knows that when he takes the dogs home later in the evening he will have to towel them off and still finds sand all over the place. It is tiny, this new house of his and while it doesn't feel like a safe harbor or even home, the bit of fenced in lawn surrounding it keeps the neighbors at a tolerable distance. Will Graham, after years and years spent looking into the minds of killers, knows that safety is an illusion but sometimes, with his three remaining dogs running back and forth between him and whatever they find to sniff at along the waterline, he manages to pretend. He is too tired not to.

Will sits down and watches his dogs romp in the sand, Buster digging a hole like the answer to life itself lies at the bottom, then abandoning it to attack a wet palm leaf several times his size. Winston, Buster and Noodles are everything Will has left and often enough the only thing that keeps him going. He hadn't been in the best state before and during his move to Sugarloaf Key, not with being freshly released from the hospital and mostly simply trying to keep breathing. Will knows that properly taking care of seven energetic dogs had been impossible and the homes he found for them were good ones but he can't help but miss the ones he had to let go. They are another good thing Hannibal took from him.

Starting a new life had been his own choice. The name on his door is Grant instead of Graham and only a handful of people know where he lives; neither of which are supposed to contact him. Alana knows because Will felt guilty about her injuries. Jack and the FBI know because they have to in case Hannibal comes for him. Will doubts they would be of any help should it come to that. If Hannibal wanted him dead he would be and there is nothing short of locking him up the FBI could do to prevent it.

Will takes a swig from the hip flask he started carrying on his evening walks several months ago, just in case he wants some whiskey while out with the dogs. If anyone should judge the lonely Omega drinking on the beach it is none of their business. He is not looking to make friends. The last time he tried it ended with him first in prison and later in hospital after getting a closer look at his insides than he ever wanted. 

Will startles when Winston licks his fingers. There is a pleasantly cool breeze coming in from the ocean and it has been 15 months and 12 days since Hannibal Lecter drove a knife into his belly and cut him open. He almost manages to not think about it some days.

He takes a deep breath, tucks away the flask, then scratches Winston beneath the chin, pushes himself to his feet and starts walking back towards the house, whistling for the dogs. He tends to get lost inside his head if he stays in the sun for too long, his brain feeling all muddy and sluggish and the alcohol doesn't help clearing his head either. As long as it is no-one else messing with him he doesn't mind too much. It is a short walk, only a few minutes up a narrow path and through the trees but by the time he spots his house it is mostly dark. 

The house is smaller than his old one in Virginia with no upstairs but a big wooden patio facing towards the beach hidden behind the line of trees he just made his way through. Will misses spotting any visitors long before they make it down from the main road in Wolf Trap but it is not like he has a lot of visitors. It is mostly the same few joggers who come past every day, sometimes tourists too, but usually no-one bothers to strike up a conversation with Will. It is partly the shotgun he keeps within arm's reach when sitting in the recliner on his back porch. 

Will reaches to open the gate in the hip high chain link fence Noodles, the little cockapoo lady, starts growling. His hand automatically goes to the gun he keeps tucked into the back of his jeans. Will pushes the gate open, slips through and whistles sharply to make the dogs stay after letting them into the garden. He squares his shoulders. If it is old Mr Barlow sniffing around his door again he is fully prepared to fire a warning shot right into the Alphas leg.

With the dogs momentary safe from the intruder Will walks across the patchy grass. The fading daylight makes it hard to identify his unwanted visitor but it becomes clear quickly that it is not the nosy old Alpha from down the road. Instead he finds Matthew Brown sitting on the wooden stairs, dressed in loose, dark blue jeans and a simple black t-shirt. He looks paler than Will remembers him but while seeing him in something other than his work uniform is slightly unsettling, Will doesn't feel surprised. He stops about two steps away from the unbidden guest.

Matthew looks up, hands fiddling with the strap of the battered blue gym-bag next to his feet.

“Mr Graham,” he starts but cuts himself off, chewing his bottom lip.

Will stares. The last time he saw Matthew he sent him off to kill Hannibal. He also wore scent blockers that made him smell enough like a Beta for Will to forget he is an Omega like himself. He isn't sure why it bothers him so much.

There are a lot of things he could say but in the end Will decided against all of them, instead he walks past Matthew, unlocks the back door and whistles for the dogs to come in. When they try to swarm Matthew Will shoos them inside, still not doing anything to acknowledge the other Omega's presence. 

Will stops halfway into the the small foyer, only barely suppressing a deep sigh. He doesn't handle surprises well at the moment and hadn't asked for company but he also feels like he owes Matthew to say what he came for.

“Do you want to come in?” Will asks without turning and walks on. The living room takes up most of the house with an open kitchenette along one wall and a short hallway running between bedroom and bathroom on the other side. 

Matthew keeps silent when following inside which is both a blessing and a potential threat. Will doesn't necessary want to talk but if there is one thing his work - both with the police and the FBI - has trained him out of, it is ingenuousness. He hasn't kept up with the news and it is possible that he invited a fugitive into his house. He doesn't own a TV so there could be manhunt going on and he wouldn't know. Will has no right to judge either way, not after doing the same thing to Alana what feels like a lifetime ago. He will listen.

Will settles in his armchair, a hideous tartan thing he picked up at a local thrift shop after leaving most of his bulky furniture behind in Virginia, and waits for Matthew to sit down on the equally ugly but comfortable couch. There is no coffee-table, instead the floor in front of them is home to the dog beds.

Will waits. He is almost certain Matthew isn't here to kill him but what else he might want remains a mystery. He watches his dogs approach Matthew again, useless mutts that they are. Matthew lets them sniff him but his attention stays on Will, face back to neutral now that Will invited him in. The quiet grows stifling. Buster hops onto Will's lap, curiosity about the unknown human sated and Will rests a hand on his tiny back, more for his own benefit than the dog's.

“Why are you here, Matthew?” he asks.

There is still admiration in Matthews face thought not the same level he showed at John Hopkins. Matthew is exhausted and trying not to show it, calmer than Will would prefer and not as sure about himself as he he wants to be. Will sometimes courses his gift for empathy but it does come in handy at times. Like when the man who killed for you once and tried to a second times comes for an unannounced visit.

Matthew licks his lips, eyes fixed on Will. His hands have stopped fiddling.

“Using the phone seemed so impersonal after everything that happened, Mr Graham, but I needed to tell you regardlessly. I am glad you are alive, thankful. Relieved, even. You had me worried, for a while, out there facing your Judas on your own.”

His faint lisp is the same Will remembers, even if his smell is not.

“This is not a courtesy call,” Will states, absentmindedly petting Buster and reminding himself that he still has his gun in case he misread the situation. He shouldn't have had that whiskey, it meddles with his judgment and aim should it come that far.

Matthew leans forward, eyes bright.

“Being locked away, unable to assist you in finishing what you made my duty. I had to wait, had to rely on gossip until I got free to learn what Lecter did. I saw the photograph of you, nearly dead and knew I needed to see you again. You shouldn't have fought alone, Mr Graham. I could have helped you. I should have.”

He looks too eager, Will thinks. Like one of the stray dogs he picks up from the side of the road, abandoned by their owner and all too thankful for a kind new master who doesn't leave them out in the cold. It's not a good look on a human. He sees a shadow of it whenever he looks into a mirror.

“You don't ow me,” Will says.

“I failed you.”

“It was an impossible thing to ask. Hannibal is too good to die that easily. I should have known he wouldn't die by any hand he didn't choose.”

He watches Matthew swallow, hair in disorder and slightly sweaty from too long on the road.

“How did you get here, Matthew?” Will asks because it _is_ a good question and one he deserves to have answered. He does not feel like dealing with the local police anytime soon. Or reporters. Especially no reporters. He is too tired to move to yet another state and his funds are running out and Lounds sneaking into his hospital room once was enough.

Matthew smirks. It is a stupid, self assured thing Will feels jealous of.

“I tramped,” Matthew says. “All the way down from Baltimore. There was always someone willing to stop for a complete stranger waiting on the side of the road. Pretty reckless of them, if you think about it, inviting someone into their car. Probably thought helping an Omega in need would earn them some favors. It didn't, of course, but they let me in anyway.” Matthew looks at him, hands unconsciously holding onto the cushion beneath him, eyes wide and eager. “Some college guys took me all the way from Miami on their way to Key West.” He pauses. “You are not an easy man to find, Mr Graham. Getting your address took me days.”

“That was the idea,” Will comments dryly but stays motionless in his chair. If Matthew could find him others can too. He is not safe. “And it still wasn't hard enough.”

Matthew crinkles his nose but keeps the eye contact until Will breaks it. “I came to apologize and offer my help and now you say you don't want it.”

“I did not ask you to,” Will says and tiredly pulls a hand down his face. “You also still did not say if I should expect a SWAT team kicking down the door or not. I would prefer if they didn't.”

At this Matthew shrugs. “Doctor Lecter being the Ripper suddenly made me look a lot more harmless and I had a good lawyer. I got out two weeks ago and am free to go wherever I want. To do whatever I want.” 

There is something dark in Matthew's eyes; the same part that went to the swimming pool and had Hannibal slowly bleed out. Part of Will wishes to have witnessed the display Matthew created in his honor. The crime scene photos didn't do it justice. 

He startles when Matthew speaks again. 

“Let me help you, Mr Graham.”

Will shakes his head, partly to get rid of the mental image of slitting Hannibal's throat himself.

“There is nothing I need your help for.”

Matthew is up in a heartbeat, too quick for Will too react but enough to make Buster bolt away and Will thinks: this it is. This is how he is going to die, by the hands of yet another killer he unwillingly invited into his life after barely surviving the first. He has no chance to grab his gun but Matthew doesn't attack. Instead he kneels down in front of Will, clasps his right hand into both of his and looks up at him with determination. Will feels a bead of sweat roll down his neck.

“I will find him, hunt him down, make him die for real next time. He won't hurt you again, Mr Graham”

Will, his hand still useless in Matthew's, braces himself.

“No,” he says and Matthew's face falls.

“Mr Graham-”

“No.” 

Will frees his hand and pushes Matthew back to stand up. It is a close fit, the front of his legs pressed against the other Omega until he steps aside. His head is spinning.

“We will talk tomorrow. I can't deal with this today, take the couch if you want.” 

It is all Will has to offer for the moment, too tired, overwhelmed and a bit drunk. He also forgot to clean and dry the dogs which will come and bite him in the ass come morning. He shakes his head, then picks up the dark red blanket from the end of the sofa, gives it a more or less symbolical brushing with his free hand and places it back down.

“Don't wake me,” he says and doesn't look back on his way over to the bedroom. He didn't ask for this. It is his problem anyway.

 

*

 

Will wakes to the smell of coffee and a nasty headache. He debates getting up to fetch some aspirin from the bathroom cabinet but can't find the strength to go through with his plan. Matthew is still in the house, last night wasn't a dream and he has no idea how to address the problem at hand. He also wants to throw up but doesn't. It is a start.

He closes his eyes for a moment longer. Not enough to fall back asleep with what is basically a stranger in the house but can't handle to face Matthew yet. A few minutes later he hears the shower start across the narrow hallway. He kicks off the bunched up sheets and shrugs on a wrinkled white t-shirt. Wearing that and his boxers Will leaves the bedroom for the kitchen where the dogs greet him with wet kisses and hungry, impatient whining. Will bypasses the bubbling coffee pot in favor of getting the bag of dry kibble from the lower cupboard and fills their bowls.

Once the dogs are busy gobbling up their breakfast he grabs his mug from the sink, fills it with fresh coffee from the cheap machine and sniffs it cautiously before taking a sip. There is no real need to go through the trouble of poisoning him if Matthew could have smothered, shot or stabbed him in his sleep, but Will stays suspicious. He pours himself a bowl of cereal, adds the last bit of milk and carries it to the cluttered dining table by the front window. There is only one chair: he never needed a second until now with being as antisocial as he is.

Will sits down and mechanically shovels cereal into his mouth without tasting any of it. He wouldn't bother at all if it wasn't for the headache and his stomach is already queasy enough that he doesn't want to risk throwing the aspirin back up. Halfway through the bowl he hears the shower turn off, followed by a moment of silence and the bathroom door opening. The hair on the back of his neck stands up when Matthew walks past; immediately followed by the clicking of claws and a lot of curious sniffing.

He listens to Matthew open and close the fridge, shake the carton of cereal, pour himself a bowl anyway and come over to sit down on the edge of the table. Only then does Will turn and frown. Of course Matthew doesn't wear a shirt, only some cargo shorts that make him look younger than he is. He also shaved and used Will's shower gel. Showing off how comfortable he is, Will thinks.

“You came to stay,” he states instead, spoon pausing on the way to his mouth.

“If you will have me,” Matthew offers and crunches down on the dry cereal like there is nothing wrong with the lack of milk. That he will be staying close whether Will agrees or not doesn't need to be said. They both know Matthew did not travel as far as he did to 

Will finishes his cereal unhurriedly, occasionally sipping more coffee. Matthew is still in his space for no other reason than that he can and the blatant display of stereotypical Alpha behavior is starting to annoy Will. He doesn't give a fuck weather Matthew acts like his newly undiluted Omega scent would make most people expect or not but isn't going to back off either. If he insists on staying around Will rather wants him where he can see. But only on his own terms. 

He pushes the empty mug away and turns back towards Matthew. Having to look up is annoying but he can deal with it.

“You want to stay? You behave yourself then. I don't know or care if killing Andrew Skyes gave you an appetite for more but if it did you are not acting on it as long as you are here. You want to stay close? Then you keep yourself in check. I am done with the FBI. I am done with the police. Doesn't matter from which side of the law. You want to chase that high? You do it somewhere else without ever mentioning my name.”

“And that from the man who who asked me to kill for him not too long ago.”

Will may have quit the FBI but he can't stop thinking like a profiler. He is unlikely to ever fully leave it behind.

“I think you used to be quiet in love with the idea of me, maybe even still are.” Will leans back in his chair. “You must have heard I didn't actually kill all those people and I would apologize for not correcting your assumptions sooner, but I was kind of busy with not dying.”  
He makes a vague hand gesture.

“You are not actually sorry,” Matthew says.

“No. No I am not.”

Matthew licks his lips, probably unconsciously.  
“Because it needed to be done and I was on the right side of the bars to do it,” he guesses.

“Yes.”

Matthew's eyes go wide.  
“You used me,” he says and slides down from the table to start pacing the room. It may be petty but Will feels better for not being the one out of his depth for a change. He scoots the chair pack enough to half turn and watch Noodles sniff after the strange Omega.

“And here you are, asking me to let you in from the rain. You have nowhere else to stay, do you?” Will goes on. “No home. No family. No job to go back to even now that you have been released. And who in their right mind would hire you? You didn't claim the murder of Skyes as your own but there is no denying you trying to kill Hannibal. With intentions good enough to not spend the rest of your life in prison but everyone knows there has to be something seriously wrong with an Omega capable of such an act of violence. You worked in the system for long enough to know the general opinion on that. You know what they are thinking when they look at you: A broken, unpredictable thing, probably even a danger to yourself. So you had to go, start from square one somewhere else. So you came to the door of the only person who couldn't possibly turn you away without looking like a hypocrite.” A bitter little smile flashes over Will's face, very much aware of his own situation being not much better. But he is not finished.  
“Smart choice but then I didn't react like you wanted me to. I was wondering why you act so different from yesterday but it is actually pretty clear why. No welcome with open arms. So you changed your strategy: bully me into taking you in because it is better than the alternative. Now that is not turning out right either and that makes you angry. Or afraid. You haven't decided yet, have you?”

Matthew stops pacing at that and nearly trips over Buster who decided to join Noodles in her game. His whole posture shifts, like someone cut his strings. Matthew lifts his head from eying the two dogs at his feet, looking as lost as yesterday on the steps all over again. This is not the reaction Will expected and Will cannot bring himself to be as much of an asshole as he wants to be.

“You want me gone, Mr Graham?” Matthew asks with his eyes flickering between Will and the door.

Will innerly curses himself for what he is about to say. This is a mistake but he always had a weak spot for strays.

“No, stay. For a while at least. But don't make me regret it.”

He stands up, leaves the empty cup behind and goes to finally take those aspirin and a shower. Before entering the bathroom he stops a last time.

“Oh, and Matthew?”

“What?”

“Put on a shirt!”

 

*

 

That first afternoon it is Will, dressed but still a bit hung over and on edge, who climbs into his pick-up to drive into town and buys enough groceries to feed himself and another grown man for the next few days. He also stocks up on whiskey and brings treats for the dogs because he feels guilty about more or less inviting a stranger into their home. Not that they seem bothered by Matthew but Will wants to do something nice for them. He feels like they deserve treats for putting up with himself as well.

They fall into a routine surprisingly quick. Over the course of the next few days the couch turns into Matthew's chronically unmade bed while Will takes to sitting outside when he is unable to catch more than an hour or two of uninterrupted sleep at night. He pointedly doesn't comment when he walks in on Matthew doing push-ups but quietly sneers at the other whenever he sees him work out without a shirt. Apart from that he sticks to not annoying Will too much but it is distracting and for some reason it makes Will's blood boil. Maybe because he looks like a wreck himself, Will thinks. He lost a lot of weight and the dark rings beneath his eyes are more pronounced than ever. Matthew still looking mostly like ever is not fair.

The next time they run out of groceries Will can't be bothered to get up and it is Matthew who finds his keys and drives to the store. 

Will listens to the muffled sounds of the car driving off from the safety of his bed. The curtains are drawn but the window is open and lets in a faint breeze. It is not even noon and already too hot. It takes Buster whining and scratching at the closed door to make him crawl out of bed and drag himself into the – for once – empty living area. He sees that Matthew already fed the dogs, then crouches down to give the exited Buster a belly rub. Winston and Noodles are napping outside the open back door, only lazily wagging their tails when spotting their master. Will shakes his head. He feels like crap but staying inside the already overheated house isn't going to help fighting the faint headache announcing itself behind his right eye. 

He has the last two, slightly stale slices of toast and the last bit of peanut butter for breakfast, then shrugs on a fresh t-shirt and some jeans he finds at the foot of his bed. Shoes seem like too much work but he fills an empty bottle with water from the tap and takes a clean stainless steel bowl, certain most of the water will be for the dogs like always. On his way out he leans down to scratch the two mutts behind the ears before clicking his tongue to make them follow.

Today he is earlier than usual and sits down between the palm trees where the sun doesn't reach him directly and he can nap more or less in peace without having to see too many people wandering past. With his back to one of the trees he lets Buster wiggle onto his lap while the other two settle somewhere near him for now. They will pester him into playing catch with him later, he knows it but care more for a soft place in the shade right now.

The meager breakfast he had is enough to make his stomach cramp unpleasantly but the fresh air clears up his headache a bit and after a while Will dozes off. 

When Will wakes it is because Buster jumps from his leg and starts barking. Will also has a crick in his neck and isn't sure how much time passed which makes his heart race in sudden panic like it always does. He springs to his feet before he can recognize the voice of the slightly blurry man in front of him and when he does he wishes he hadn't.

“Easy there, Billy! Call back your dog, will ya?”  
It's Mr Barlow, his older and unpleasantly clingy neighbor. Will calms down his breathing and pushes his glasses back up his nose, still dizzy from standing up too quickly. He is peripherally aware that Buster is still yapping and Winston and Noodles nose at his shaking legs.

“Buster, down!” he orders out of reflex and the barking stops. Will wishes for his shotgun more than anything. He is not afraid of Mr Barlow, not the same way he is afraid of diving too deep into the mind of a killer or falling asleep at night. The balding man is every Alpha who ever leered at him since he presented as an Omega at age 12 and he cannot deal with it. Not now. Maybe never again.

“What do you want?” Will asks irritated and scans the surroundings for a quick way out.   
Barlow either sees nothing of his discomfort or doesn't care. The Alpha comes closer in big, confident strides.

“Why would I need to want anything? Just having a nice little chat under neighbors.” The fake innocence of the statement makes Will's skin crawl. “I haven't seen ya around in a while. Was worried something happened, Billy.” 

Will loathes the nickname almost as much as Barlow's persistence. He starts contemplating if the big plastic bottle would be heavy enough to knock the Alpha out. Unlikely. Barlow comes another step closer and Will takes oneback. His hand twitches towards the gun tucked into the back of his waistband. 

“Ya shouldn't startle so easy. Can't be healthy, that,” Barlow says and Will grits his teeth.

“You should leave.”

“What for? Just having a chat here. Don't be a bitch.”

Winston starts growling. Will knows he has to practically reek of distressed Omega for the friendly dog to get like this; a fact that is not doing him any good with getting Barlow to leave him alone. 

Wills hand finds the butt of the gun while he tries to keep his eyes fixed on the Alpha while avoiding his eyes at the same time. He doesn't have to shoot to kill, he reminds himself, no matter how tempting. He came a long way from the young officer too scared to shoot.

His grip tightens. Barlow is still there.

Before he can pull the gun and pull the trigger there is rustling behind Barlow and Matthew comes out of the underbrush, Noodles yips in excitement and the tension breaks. Barlow retreats to an acceptable distance and Will prays to a god he doesn't believe in that Matthew doesn't call him by his last name this time because the last thing he wants is for the old Alpha to get nosy. Or worse, to start finding him _interesting_. Will barely survived the last time.

“I heard voices,” Matthew says, looking at Will, eyebrows drawn like he is waiting for instructions and suddenly Will can see it: One word from him and Matthew would kill the Alpha. Snap his neck, most likely. It would be quick and he could do it; Matthew being young and strong while Barlow doesn't get much more exercise than picking up his mail each morning. Will knows how to get rid of a body and how to clean up evidence. He has lived and breathed more murders than he cares to count. He knows of the victims who were only discovered after the killer confessed. He could do it. They could get away with it. They could...

Will shakes his head minutely.

“Did you get everything you wanted in town?” he asks with his best impression of a cheerful voice. He fails miserably but Matthew thankfully lets the unspoken question drop and plays along.

“Even the dog food. You should come and help me unload the car. That bag of kibble is too heavy otherwise.”

“Of course.”

Will quickly picks up both bottle and bowl, then clicks his tongue for the dogs who follow immediately. 

“Have a nice day Mr Barlow,” he ads sharply but without looking at the Alpha, eyes on the ground as he hurries past.

Will is glad they take the narrow path home instead of taking a shortcut through the shrubs like Matthew did to get there. He is dizzy and his heart won't stop racing, he doesn't need to fall on his face in addition.

When they reach the house the car is almost empty – of course – and the groceries put away. Will guiltily fills the panting dogs bowls of fresh water before putting his head under the kitchen faucet. The water is lukewarm at first and doesn't become much cooler but gets rid of the clammy sweat. Only afterwards does he gulp down a glass, a second tight after. He is stalling. 

Out of the corner of eye he can see Matthew standing in the doorway, one shoulder against the frame, waiting.

Will finally straightens, hair dripping onto his shoulders but at least he doesn't feel like he has to throw up anymore.

“Thanks for not using my name,” Will says, still facing the cupboard above the sink. “That would have led to some awkward questions.”

“Does he bother you often? If he knows what's good for him he should stop.”

Will barks out a joyless laugh, running a hand through his wet hair, tugging it in an attempt to ground himself.  
“Mr Barlow is just an old man who has his head so far up his ass that he can't see when someone is clearly not interested in him.”

Matthew eyes him with new interest.

“You were about to shoot him when I arrived. Don't lie to me, Mr Graham. I know where you keep that gun.”

“I was about to give a warning shot.”

Matthew pushes himself off the doorframe and saunters over to Will.

“Liar,” he says.

Will feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He finally turns around but there is Matthew, right in front of him and way too close. He is trapped between him and the sink in his back.

“You killed Randall Tier.”

“I killed him in self-defense,” Will says. He tries to step to the side but Matthew leans forward and plants his hands on the wooden surface in both of Will's sides.

“You peeled off his face and mounted his body parts on an animal skeleton in self-defense too? There were photos. I wish I had been there.” He is so close Will can feel his breath so he does what he couldn't think of in his disoriented haze earlier with Barlow: he knees him in the groin and _shoves_.

Matthew hits the floor with a groan that turns into a whimper. The dogs start barking frantically but he barely hears it above the blood rushing in his ears.

“You don't know shit about why I did it. You have no idea what it took me. I didn't do it for you. You don't get to talk about it like it's _yours_!” Will spits. 

Matthew is still curled up on the floor and he grabs him by the back of his collar and pulls. The other Omega chokes, scrambling to turn around and onto his knees. Will hears the fabric of the shirt tear and digs his nails into the skin beneath, then fists his hand into the remaining scarps and keeps pulling.  
“Move!” he snarls and Matthew does, on his hands and knees and still in pain from the kick seconds earlier.  
“That was not yours; _I_ am not yours.”  
Will knows the anger is not his own, it is some else's, picked up somewhere along the way - maybe even Randall's – but he needs it now and will make it his own. He bares his teeth at Matthew.

He half-drags Matthew across the floor to the still open backdoor and shoves him out onto the porch and halfway down the stairs.

“Get the fuck out of my house!”

Matthew, torn shirt and pinpricks of blood on his neck, looks up at him with a reverence that makes Will's stomach churn. He slams the door shut, turns the key in the lock and only then starts shaking. He becomes aware of the barking and crouches down to sooth both the dogs and himself. Winston is the first to overcome his confusion about why their master smelled of anger just moments before and butts his furry head into Will's knee. Will buries his face in Winston's neck until he stops trembling.

 

*

 

It is late afternoon by the time Will disentangles himself from the small pile of dogs. His back aches from staying in the same position for too long and he stretches with a wince. Days like this are why he keeps away from people as much as he can and doesn't feel guilty when he heats up one of the cans of tomato soup Matthew stocked the pantry with. He eats it curled up in the armchair and for the first time in months he feels actually hungry. His lack of appetite isn't something that bothered Will but he knows he is skinnier then he used to be. It's not a surprise. First his gut-wound had him bedridden for weeks, then he needed to be extra careful not to tear his stitches and then... then he moved to Florida, his appetite never returned and he didn't care. It's a good day when he manages two full meals and it shows. Will was never overly muscular but he used to be able to hold his ground in a fight, fit enough for his job. If Matthew had decided to fight back. If Matthew had... He hadn't.

Will sets the empty soup bowl onto the little side table to his left.

If Matthew had wanted to overpower him, he could have done it. If he wanted to come in he could – Will didn't even think about locking the front door and even he would be able to kick in the flimsy plywood of the backdoor. His eyes dart to the window overlooking the backyard but there is no movement. He relaxes back into the armchair. Matthew hasn't tried to force his way inside and that is good enough for now.

Will looks over to the messy nest of blankets on the sofa. Even back at John Hopkins Will had known that Matthew had feelings for him. After their first and only real conversation it had been obvious. The thing is that Will had expected the other to get bored with him, if not during his own time locked away then since discovering the truth about Will and the life he led. The look Matthew had given him on the porch tells a different story.

Outside it is slowly getting dark. Will turns on the orange and brass lamp on the side table, then stands up, feeds the dogs and sits back down. He needs to think.

He has no delusions about Matthew being gone for good. For once, all his things – including his wallet – still clutter Will's living room; he will have to get that at the very least. Evidence also says he isn't anyone to give up easily. The problem is that the sudden outburst of violence made Will feel more alive than he had since turning around to find Hannibal in his kitchen. He doesn't want to examine what that means just now but will have to at one point.

Occasional murderous tendencies aside, Matthew isn't the worst company. He went grocery shopping, which Will loathes because it involves human interaction. He also didn't feed him human meat yet – and low standards aside – he counts that as a plus.

What stays is the problem that he has dated other Omegas in the past he is not especially attracted to Matthew. He is not sure if he is able to feel attraction to anyone right now. Maybe he is too damaged.  
He had thought like that before, when he hardly felt a pull towards Alphas outside a heat. Not until meeting Hannibal with his refined manners and smooth voice that pulled him in, that made him consider throwing away the life he had built for himself to be with him. Will had played with the thought what it would be like to have the educated Alpha as a mate, but that was before he took Abigail to Minnesota, before being framed for the crimes of the Chesapeake Ripper. And then again afterwards. After sending Matthew to kill Hannibal and getting released.

Will takes a few shaky breaths but the soup stays down. He doesn't want to think about Hannibal anymore.

He stands up abruptly, marches into the bathroom and turns on the shower. He strips while waiting for the water to go from tepid to warm, then closes his eyes and steps under the stream. He isn't ready to look at the scar but after they day he had he as to reek of fear, anger and stale sweat. He doesn't bother drying up when stepping back out, just turns off the water, walks over into the bedroom and drops face down onto the mattress. After a while he wraps himself into the sheet he hasn't changed in who knows how long and drifts into a restless sleep.

 

*

 

In the morning Will feels less jittery than the day before and has a plan. He dresses, feeds the dogs and stands in front of the open fridge for a long time while deciding what to do with the contents. He settles on eggs because they are easy and he has a whole carton of them. 

He scrambles enough eggs for two, loads the toaster with bread, then sets a pot of coffee to brew while he melting butter in a pan. There is a little plastic container filled with cherry tomatoes on the counter that looks nearly frivolous next to the rest of the food so he slices most of them in half and tosses them into the pan to fry before adding the beaten eggs. Will may not be much of a cook but he can manage breakfast.

While they cook he finds clean dishes, fills two mugs with fresh coffee, places a slice of bread on each plate and finishes by pushing half of the eggs and tomatoes next to each. The food is nothing special but it will do. At least he did not burn it.

Will unlocks the back-door, takes a deep, steadying breath, then picks up a mug and plate. With both hands occupied he uses his elbow to push the handle hand gently kicks open the door. 

As Will predicted, Matthew is still where he left him, sitting to the left of the door; half beneath the bedroom window. He sits on the rough wooden floor, his back against the wall, sleepily blinking up at Will. There is no need to ask if he has been there all night. Of course he has.

Will looks at him for a moment, than sets down both mug and plate on the floor in front of Matthew and walks back into the house to fetch his own breakfast and two forks from the kitchen. With both in hands he returns to the porch and settles into the creaky wicker chair in the corner. His coffee goes onto the railing to his left, then he hands one of the forks to Matthew before starting on his eggs without a word. This is the only peace offering he will make.

Matthew stares at him, surprise softening his face. The expression stays for only a moment before turning into stunned admiration. It gives Will goosebumps. 

Will is halfway finished when he finally feels Matthew's gaze leaving him and a bit of tension eases from his body. They eat in silence, Matthew settled seemingly comfortable on the floor. It does not feel as uneasy as it maybe should.

Since Will left the door open it doesn't take long for the dogs to trot out into the garden and sniff around, just in case something changed since they last came along. Will watches them, slowly sipping his coffee while doing so. He is full before making it through everything on his plate which is not a surprise after months of small, irregular meals and he places the leftovers on the railing next to his mug. Matthew does not talk either, only makes a displeased sound when he has to rescue his plate from Winston.

As soon as the coffee is gone Will caries his dishes back to the kitchen, deposits the leftover eggs in the fridge and grabs one of the books he picked up months ago at the thrift shop from the small shelf. You can't go wrong with Agatha Christie. No manipulative serial killers with Miss Marple.

Matthew hasn't visibly moved when Will returns into his chair outside and starts reading. He makes it through the first few pages of _A Caribbean Mystery_ before Matthew speaks.

“What are you doing, Mr Graham?”

Will doesn't set down the book, but watches Matthew out of the corner of his eye. He has started fidgeting. Nothing big. Small things a less trained eye might have missed but reading people is what Will does.

“Living my life,” Will says. “Assault me again and you are no longer part of it.”

Matthew nods quietly and Will tries to focus on his book again. He may not be an FBI agent any longer but he hasn't figured out what he is instead either. Maybe he needs Matthew to wake him up, maybe not but or more than a year he has been living in a vacuum. Since yesterday there is a crack letting fresh air into his prison. Will feels like something came back alive inside him, a spark of what could be. Will has no idea where that spark will lead him if he follows. It could be a will-o'-the-wisp for all he knows, coaxing him back onto the dark paths of his mind but he has spend too much time in complete darkness not to follow that light. He will see where it takes him, good or bad.

 

*

 

Will hopes the new burst of energy keeps up for a while.

The money he received for both for his unrightful incarceration and the injuries he suffered while trying to catch Hannibal Lecter went mostly into the new house. What hasn't been eaten up by moving down from Virginia dwindled over the course of the last year. Will doesn't need much, not with not having to pay rent and hardly ever going out to socialize but he can't afford being an antisocial hermit forever either. A few more months if he stays careful about his purchases but he can't keep going like this forever. He needs food, his dogs too and he doesn't want to think about what repairs hurricane season might require of him if he stays.

He doesn't even think about going back into law enforcement: Special Agent Graham is dead and buried. He has other talents.

One thing Will always had a knack for is coaxing motors back into running. The skill was picked up by trailing his father during school vacations as a child with no-one else to watch him and his father always at work. Helping him had come natural to Will, the physical work calming down his racing mind. There is an order to machines, they don't lie, they don't get upset with truths. Most importantly: Hannibal did not taint them.

The day after his breakfast apology Will gets into the pickup and spends a few hours driving up and down the isles to stick handwritten ads with his phone-number to every blackboard he can find. He also boots up his long unused laptop to post another ad on craigslist, hoping it might attract some tourists. Almost a week later a couple spending their holiday on Park Key calls him to get the broken outboard motor on their rented boat running. The job takes Will several hours and more of his social skills than he would like but they tell the owner and calls start coming in more frequently afterwards. Not enough to live off yet, but better than nothing and the work keeps Will from brooding too much.

He even sleeps better, only waking up two or three times a night if he bothers going to bed.

 

*

 

Will should have known things wouldn't proceed that easily.

As soon as he starts getting more calls Mr Barlow gets hold of his number too. Will should have known the older Alpha would see the ads sooner or later but the first time he picks up his phone and hears the Alpha breath done the line, asking him how he is doing, he hangs up and spends the next hour clinging to Winston's fur. Will feels disgusted and scared and then disgusted again for reacting so strongly to some old man not taking no for an answer. 

Matthew has gotten into the habit of taking long runs around the island instead of just working out on the kitchen floor or in the garden. Will is grateful for the fact because it means no witness for his pathetic breakdown. Once Winston starts squirming Will stands up, splashes some water into his face and goes outside to work on his latest repair project. It's nothing complicated but takes enough steps to keep him occupied until Matthew returns, sweaty, out of breath and more relaxed then when he left. They don't speak much since their last falling out but get along.

Some time later it starts smelling like food. Will keeps working on the boat motor until Matthew – now freshly showered – leaves a bowl of vegetarian chili next to him. Will keeps staring at it even after Matthew returns inside, no words exchanged.

Will's face suddenly burns hot with shame while he stares at the slowly cooling chili in it's bowl. Will never said a word about his inability to eat any kind of meat, yet Matthew somehow caught it and never made a mistake. Not once.   
He is pathetic. He has become skinny enough to look close to the useless kind of Omega people used to mock him about not being. Yet he can't stomach any kind of food that would help him regain the muscle he lost over the last two years. He used to face killers and now can't even get a lonely old Alpha to leave him the fuck alone. He is so sick of this. He is sick of vegetarian chili and tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. 

Will tries to find that anger he felt the other night, just something to hold onto and not break down again. 

Suddenly determined not to be defeated by food he leaves the bowl in the grass, raises to his feet and strides into the house just long enough to grab the car keys. Then he is out again, climbs into the pickup and drives.

He is not going to give up. He never has. Will clings to that thought. First until gets onto the highway and then all the way up to Marathon. He is angry but does not want to stay close either. The last time he tried to eat meat the mere thought made him throw up and if he should embarrass himself he doesn't want it to happen too close to home. Still, he can do this.

Will keeps the mental pep-talk up when he waits for his turn at the Mc Donald's drive-through, then when he orders a big mac, fries and a coke. By the time he finds a spot on the parking lot he is drenched in sweat and nauseous. 

He kills the engine. The window is rolled down and hears traffic and seagulls. A car honks at the near intersection. Wills mouth feels dry and he takes a sip from the coke to calm his stomach. It doesn't work. The ice tastes a bit of chlorine and makes him think of a crime scene hastily wiped down with bleach. His hand shakes as he retrieves the burger from the paper bag in his lap but he manges to unfold the little cardboard box. The smell of pickles and sauce is overpowering. He can do this. He managed Lawrence Wells totem of corpses without throwing up and there is no chance in hell this burger contains human meat.

Will takes a defiant bite and is instantly, violently sick into the paper bag.

He heaves until nothing comes up anymore, then waits until the shaking eases off enough to ball up the sodden paper, stuff the burger inside and run over to the trash can to drop it inside. Back in the car he hides his face in his hands and sobs until he has tired himself out, then wipes off his face on his t-shirt and counts his breath. At twenty he dares to drink some more coke and when it doesn't make him think of dead bodies this time he starts the car and drives home.

 

*

 

The drive back somehow feels longer and a glance to the clock on the dashboard tells him that he spend nearly two hours in the parking lot. It felt like less but the amount of time he lost is small enough not to worry.

By the time he pulls off the highway it is dusk and once in his driveway Will stays in the car, listening to the engine cooling until long after dark. It is not like loosing time when he was sick, not even like earlier in the parking lot: he simply can't work up the energy to move. It is a weak comfort but Will takes what he can get.

He finally manages to talk himself into leaving the car and walks through the frontdoor. The room is empty – lights on - but the backdoor stands open. Will hesitates, then steps through the screen door out onto the porch. Matthew sits on the floor again with his back against the wall and throws a ball into the darkness for Noodles and Buster to chase while Winston looks on.

Will lets himself slide down the wall down a few inches do Matthew's right.

“I had a breakdown today because I couldn't eat a burger. There is something seriously wrong with me,” Will starts but doesn't know what else to say until Winston pats over, lays his head in his lap and whines. Once Will starts petting him he calms, tongue lolling and tail wagging. Will wishes happiness was that easy for him. “I don't know what you get from staying here, Matthew. You are not getting paid to put up with crap like this anymore and I am not who you want me to be. Not that killer, not... nothing. Just broken and fucked up.”

Instead of looking at Matthew Will concentrates on the soft golden fur between his fingers. He needs to give Winston another trim to make the heat more bearable for the dog. Maybe Noodles too. They will be more comfortable that way and as long as Will can still take care of his dogs things aren't too bad.

“You are not broken, Mr Graham.”

Will rakes a hand through his messy hair and turns towards Matthew, not directly looking at him.

“Oh, but I am. Not that you are a shining example for sanity, Matthew, but me? I am a wreck.”

“You are healing,” Matthew says, not reacting to the insult. He carefully disentangles Will's hand from his hair and brings it to his lips. His eyes bore into Will's. “If you could only see yourself, Mr Graham. The world is such a terrifying place with you in it. If we worked together, we could burn it to the ground and dance in the ashes if we wanted. You are still a hawk, Mr Graham. You only need to soar again. Lecter tried to clip your wings but he ultimately failed. One day you will see it.” 

Matthew sighs and lets go of his hand like it pains him to do so but not before pressing his lips to Will's knuckles. 

“If I had been successful he wouldn't have hurt you.” 

Will feels a shiver go down his back at those words. They carry a promise he does not want.

“Don't,” Will says.

“But-”

“No,” Will interrupts and forces himself to make eye contact again. “Promise me to never go after Hannibal Lecter. Don't look for him, don't attract his interest. I want him to forget about me so I never have to see him again. He is not part of my life anymore and will never again be part of his if I have any say in the matter. Promise to not bring him here.”

There is it again, that terrifying, awestruck expression in Matthew's face as he looks at Will.

“I read what he did to you, Mr Graham but if this is what you want, I can do it. Not doing it, I mean, for you,” he breathes and Will has to close his eyes. This is too much. This is a kind of devotion Will has no idea what to do with.

“There are things Hannibal deserves, but learning where I live is not on that list,” Will says slowly, then adds: “But you are here. I let you be here.”

Matthew stays quiet for a while, then nods, eyes wide open and eager.

“I won't disappoint you, Mr Graham.”

The weird thing is that Will believes him. He is still waiting for Matthew's obsession with him to burn itself out but the other Omega never complains when Will doesn't feel like talking or even looking at him. And he didn't say a thing about Will still smelling faintly of vomit which he has to. It is hard not to be at least a little bit grateful for that. 

“Maybe you should call me Will,” he offers and the look of near-shock melting into gratitude on Matthew's face tells him more than any words of thanks could. Making Matthew happy aparently is easy too.

 

*

 

It is the dogs who notice first. 

They start behaving oddly about a week after the burger incident. Nothing too much out of the ordinary at first. More random barking, especially while running up and down the fence at the back. Will believes in a curious raccoon or a squirrel until day three of this behavior. Matthew is out on one of his walks and Will is the one doing the dishes for once as it happens for the fourth time that day. The moment he realizes it is not their usual excitement about small animals or passing tourists he goes still. Someone – or something – is stalking the property. He drops the plate he was about to put into the cupboard realizing it could also be Hannibal.

The shock only lasts for a few seconds. Will knows the dogs would be happy about seeing the familiar Alpha who always brought them treats in the past: no growling in that case. He quickly closes the door to keep the dogs out and away from the shards on the kitchen floor, which he quickly sweeps up and disposes in the trash bin. Forgetting about the dirty dishes left in the sink he makes sure the shotgun is in working order and loaded instead. That dealt with he settles into the armchair and waits.

Matthew comes in from his walk about an hour later, hair damp from where he went for a dip in the ocean. He does not comment on finding Will staring at the backdoor whit the shotgun propped against his leg without visibly acknowledging his presence. Instead of talking Matthew washes the rest of the abandoned dishes and wipes down the counter all while keeping an eye on Will. 

It doesn't take long for Buster to bark again as angry as earlier, the other two dogs joining in and Will is out of his seat in a heartbeat. He strides out into the garden, shotgun against his shoulder but there is nothing except for the dogs who now come sniffing at him. While he puts the safety back on he hears Matthew coming out after him, their biggest kitchen knife in hand.

“Will?”

“Someone was here,” he says and manages to fight off the memory of another knife in another hand. This is not the time. “Whoever it is: they are gone, but will be back. It has been like this the whole day. The dogs are going crazy and I know it is not an animal that has them this agitated.”

He is not loosing his mind this time, Will is sure of that. Matthew's face darkens.

“Lecter?” he asks and Will shakes his head.

“No, they know him. The useless mutts would open the door for him if they could,” he says with a bitter smile and pats Noddles' head. “Not much use for anything that doesn't involve having their bellies scratched.”

They check for an intruder anyway but find nothing of use. The fence is intact, as is the gate but there is a patch of trampled down grass between the shrubs behind. Matthew even looks beneath the small wooden boat Will had started to fix in hope of taking it out to go fishing sometime soon but all he finds is a well-chewed tennis ball Buster takes off with.

The rest of the day they spend waiting and of course nothing more happens. They both take the dogs to the beach in the evening: a thing Will usually does alone but today it seems better having backup. Matthew stays close the whole time and carefully eyes every person walking past. Every other day it would annoy Will to no end but knowing Matthew would watch his back in case of an attack is soothing. He isn't alone in this.

The dogs sense his worry and stay closer than usual too and between them and Matthew by his side some of the tension leaves Will's body. They don't talk until they start their way back. The topic is unexpected.

“They are looking for someone to staff the reception at the lodge a few nights a week. I applied, maybe they will take me,” Matthew says while looking out onto the ocean.

“That is good.” 

Will isn't sure what else to say to that. It comes as a bit of a surprise but makes sense when he thinks about it. Matthew doesn't use Will's money when buying groceries and there can't be a never ending supply. Will also suspects that Matthew loathes being dependent on others as much as he does himself. When he doesn't answer Will turns his head. Matthew stares ahead and throws the tennis ball to tire out the dogs.

“I am not planning to start charging you rent,” Will offers, wondering if that is what Matthew worries about but still doesn't get an answer. Getting a job is a good thing, so why be that closed off about it? When it clicks for him Will frowns.

“Matthew, I am trying to be flattered but am very much capable of looking after myself for a few hours. You don't even have the job yet and I am not a delicate little fairytale Omega prince in need of rescuing.”

Matthew flinches – caught - and shoves his hands into his pockets.

“I never said you were.”

“Oh, but that is exactly how you meant it. Empathy disorder, remember?” Will quips, then crosses his arms in front of his chest only to uncross them again. Human interaction is complicated. He doesn't want to fuck this up now that he has grown used to company. 

“Look, I appreciate your help, I really do, but I am a grown man, used to work in law-enforcement and know how to shoot. I am not helpless.” There. “And don't even think about not taking that job because of me,” he adds before he can find a reason not to.

“What if you need me when I am gone?”

“Then I will shoot the fucker right into the face and you can help me once you are back,” Will snaps. “Don't bother arguing, I won't change my mind about it.”

Matthew bites his lower lip but keeps his mouth shut for the rest of the way.

 

*

 

Back home Will knows someone was there during their walk. He and Matthew carefully search for any sign of the intruder still being around but come up empty. The doors are locked and no-one hides in the house. Something still feels off. 

Will only notices when the dogs won't stop sniffing the cushion he keeps on the lawn chair on the porch and nearly chokes when he lifts the thing. The pillow is damp in spots and basically drenched in Alpha pheromones. Will drops it to the ground unceremoniously, then walks past Matthew into the house and washes his hands in the kitchen sink.

“Mr Barlow is in rut and cannot keep it in his pants anymore. Do me a favor and burn that pillow, please?” he asks over his shoulder, still vigorously scrubbing his hands. Matthew stops behind him but a bit to his left so Will still has him in his peripheral vision. Will interrupts him before he can do more than draw a breath.

“No, Matthew, we can't kill him. Not that I wouldn't like to, but everyone around here knows he keeps harassing me and that I hate his guts and that is exactly what the police will find to be a very strong motive. So, no.”

Matthew takes half a step closer and carefully places a hand on Will's back.

“I wanted to say that there was a flyer at the gas station. The shelter in Key West is searching homes for a whole bunch of pit bulls. Maybe they have one that knows how to be a guard dog. Not that you don't know how to look after yourself, but it could help,” Matthew says with a bit of a smile in his voice towards the end.

The hand on his back is broad and warm and Will relaxes into the touch. All he wants is to catch a break and the contact really does feel good. 

“That actually sounds surprisingly helpful,” Will admits. “I'll look into it.”

He doesn't move, unsure what to do next. It is not that he has never dated another Omega, because he has, but that was when he was younger and it never ended well. Not that the rest of his relationships went a lot better. He is bad with people. They always want more than he can give or at least less of him being himself. Less truth, more pleasant lies. He isn't good at that.

“I am sorry for assuming you wanted to kill him,” Will says for a lack of anything better and Matthew slides closer until he is flush against his back. They have been in this position before but Will doesn't feel threatened this time.

“I would, but you are right about either of us being a prime suspect. But that is only if anyone would miss him, of course. If not...” Matthew starts and Will can't help but sigh.

“Matthew...”

Will actually staggers a bit forward when the other Omega slumps against him and rests his forehead on Will's shoulder. 

“I know,” Matthew says. He carefully slides his arms around Will's middle for an embrace and when Will doesn't flee, he squeezes lightly. “And I won't because it would take this life from you. Maybe one day you will fly again but until then this isn't so bad. I even like it here, it is quiet and I get to watch you knit yourself back together. One day you will fly and on that day I will be right beside you, no matter what direction you take. Let me stay, let me help you and no harm will come to you. I will fight the devil if that is what it takes. I will fight myself if it makes you feel safer.”

Will can feel his own rapid heartbeat and Matthew's erection against his backside. Being cradled in his arms feels nice, almost safe even but he is still too riled up from finding his home invaded and that speaks of of another anxiety attack waiting around the corner. Matthew is trembling from the stain of not moving and Will nuzzles his cheek along the side of his head. When Matthew straightens he half twists to press a feather light kiss against the corner of his mouth.

“Just this, okay Matthew?” he whispers.

Matthew swallows hard but nods.

“Okay.”

They stay like that for a while longer until Will has enough and disentangles himself from Matthew's arms. He crouches down to pet Buster who has snuck in to circle his empty bowl like that might magically make it fill with kibble before dinner time.

“Will you burn the pillow now please? I don't want to touch it again,” Will says and when he turns to look Matthew is gone from the kitchen and a few minutes later the smell of burning synthetic fiber drifts in from the backyard.

 

*

 

On Thursday they drive to Key West. Stocking up on rice, pasta, some vegetables and dry kibble comes first, the drive to the animal shelter second. 

Being able to pick another dog is the only thing keeping up Will's spirit while waiting in the checkout line and Matthew hovering right behind him is _not_ being helpful. There is a reason he usually avoids the store and lets the other Omega handle the groceries but waiting in the parking lot like a stubborn child is no preferable alternative. Once he has paid Will is antsy enough to nearly race the cart to the car with Matthew grinning at his antics from a safe distance. Will repays him by making him lug the groceries into the back while checking the flyer for the address of their next stop.

Will parks the car beneath some trees in front of a low, light blue building next to a golf course. He goes ahead through a gate in the tall chain-link fence and inside the building they saw from the street, housing the reception. After mentioning the ad for the pit bulls it doesn't take long until a college-aged male Beta named Greg takes them around the back and to the kennels to meet the animals.

Surrounded by animals, even others than his own, Will feels a lot more comfortable than earlier at the store and exchanges some words with Greg about his volunteer work at the shelter. Matthew keeps mostly quiet after he had made it clear in the car that he will be fine with whatever dog Will picks.

The choice falls on Heather, a three year old rottweiler/pit bull mix who is a bit shy but chews Matthew's shoe laces by the end of their visit. They learn that, like most of the pits they are trying to re-home right now, she belonged to a drug dealer who used them as guard dogs. At the very least she looks a lot fiercer than Winston or Noodles and will hopefully bring the massage across that they don't want anyone sneaking around the property. 

While Will fills out the required paperwork he thinks about how weird it is for Heather to be the first dog he officially adopts. Everyone else has been a stray and he hadn't anticipated how long the process would take. He never had to be nervous about not being good enough to care for a dog.

Luckily Matthew had gotten a call from the lodge the other day, telling him that he got the job, so Will can write at least one of them down as employed. The young Beta woman at the reception is polite enough not to comment on how close Matthew sticks to Will during the process. Not that it's any of her business.

He startles when the receptionist clears her throat, apologizes and slides the completed form over to her.

“The process shouldn't take longer than a week max,” the young woman explains cheerfully. “We need to visit your home to make sure Heather will be housed properly but we always call in advance so you can arrange for either you or your partner being home, Mr Grant.”

Will doesn't need to turn to know there is a smug grin spreading on Matthew's face. 

“Thank you,” Will says after a beat of flustered silence. “We hope to hear from you soon.”

He then turns on his heel, grabs Matthew by the elbow and drags him out and into the car. Will hopes the stubble on his cheeks hides the blush he knows has to be there too. This is stupid. Will is aware that people talk about the two unmated male Omegas living in a secluded little house with a bunch of dogs no matter how little he interacts with the natives. It's hard to misinterpret the way Matthew looks at him and they don't know that the one and only time Matthew went into heat since his arrival he disappeared into a motel somewhere for the duration of it. They never talked about it and Matthew started smelling like smoke after his walks sometimes soon after. Will doesn't care as long as Matthew doesn't get caught and he is always happier for a few days after. A bit of low-grade property damage is a small price to pay for the dark beast slumbering in Matthew's chest to stay content a while longer.

“You didn't correct her,” Matthew states once they pull out of the parking lot and Will groans.

“Do we have to talk about this?” When the smug grin still doesn't leave Matthew's face he shakes his head and stares ahead onto the road. “What would I even tell her? It is none of her business anyway and we are doing fine. Or at least not badly. Can we just concentrate on getting approved for taking Heather home? Because she is a sweet dog and I don't want her to be stuck in that place for longer than she has to.”

Matthew keeps watching him from the passenger seat. It is unnerving.

“You like dogs a lot more than you like people,” he observes and that finally breaks the weird tension. Will feels his lips twitch.

“You only noticed that now?”

 

*

 

A middle aged Omega woman who introduces herself as Judy visits them on Sunday to make sure they are ready to house a dog and kind of falls in love with Buster. By the time she leaves Judy has petted all three existing dogs and tells Will that they can come pick up Heather the next day and that is what they do. 

For the way home they have to put her in a crate in the back of the pickup but she looks miserable after only a few streets – no matter how carefully Will drives – they stop and Matthew climbs into the bed of the truck to keep her company. Like that they make it home without incidents. 

With lots of patience Matthew manages to coax her out of the crate and holds her collar while Will carries the wire monstrosity around the house and onto the porch. The other dogs inside the house are unhappy with being ignored, whining, but are ignored for the moment. 

Once Heather is back in the crate, had some water, food and a bit of time to settle, Will brings the rest of the pack out and carefully watches his mutts and the newcomer sniff each other until Matthew pushes a plate with mac and cheese at him and insists he has to eat. Will doesn't protest but doesn't pay a lot of attention to his meal either. When Matthew announces he has to leave his plate is still half filled with nearly cold pasta and Will quietly panics for a second before remembering what Mathew is talking about.

“You are starting at the lodge tonight, right?” Will shifts in the still cushion-less chair. “Sorry, I forgot.” 

Matthew shrugs and Will frowns at the weird half-smile.

“You were distracted. But I need the car keys and you still have them.”

Will rummages through his Jeans pockets and throws the keys to Matthew once he finds them.

“Thank you.”

Matthew pats Noodles on the head and then he is out of the front door and gone. Heather whines as she watches him go and Will sights, feeling pretty much the same.

“Already picking favorites, are you, girl?”

Heather doesn't answer, of course, but she is calmer now and Will lets her out of the crate. It takes a while for her to come out but in the end she does and sniffs the rest of the dogs in return. 

Still, she seems to be happy with sticking close to Will and follows him inside as soon as he goes. Heather sniffs around, then sneaks towards the couch, noses the blankets Matthew sleeps under and curls up next to it on the floor. Will follows her and sits down in his armchair unsure if he wants to be happy about one of his dogs not jumping onto the furniture or angry about whatever her previous owner must have done to make her as shy as she acts. Probably the latter.

Will stands up again, gets a cold beer from the fridge, pops it open and sits down again, Heather watching his every move. He is feeling weirdly restless since Matthew left for work and the implication annoys Will. Matthew leaving shouldn't make him nervous. Him misunderstanding for a second or two that Matthew isn't leaving forever but only for a few hours shouldn't make him nauseous. He did well alone. At least not too bad. Will drinks his beer quicker than he maybe should. He used to be miserable lonely but not dead.

Will pulls his legs up and sighs. When it is only himself he can admit that he is doing better than a few months ago. He still wakes from nightmares five nights out of seven but he sleeps. With Matthew reminding him to eat he even managed to gain a little bit of weight back, thought he is still too skinny. It is enough for his walks with the dogs not to drain him as much any more. Small steps.

His eyes drift to the sofa. Things didn't change after last week, Matthew still sleeps out here at night and Will is not sure if he could handle anything else. Not right now, maybe some day if Matthew doesn't get tired of waiting before. Will likes the other Omega, he really does despite his best efforts not to and wants him to stay.

Will squints at the crumpled blankets, then stands up and crosses the short distance to wrap himself right up in them and inhales deeply. They smell like Matthew and Will guiltily feels the restlessness melt away. Stupid. And reckless for getting emotionally attached again, but he can't bring himself to get too mad about it. Maybe they can have something nice until Matthew moves on, even if it is nothing but companionship. Maybe things won't end in bloodshed this time. Maybe he can have this.

He checks the time on his phone. Matthew will be gone until morning and Will can't sleep yet. He disentangles himself from the sheet, stands up again and collects both his still half filled bowl and the paperback he had started on a few days ago, then sits back down and wraps himself up again. He is still not hungry but half a plate of dinner is not enough and he has all night to finish. Maybe in an hour he can manage another few bites.

The cushions feel softer than he remembers and Will lets himself sink into them. He even reads a few pages before his eyes get heavy and he falls asleep.

 

*

 

Will wakes to the sound of the front door closing and groans as he tries to hide his face further in the pillow. This is not his bed – that much he can tell – but it still smells like home. He is halfway back to sleep when a floorboard creaks and Will is up onto his feet within seconds, with the small table lamp held in front of him, heart nearly springing out of his chest with how fast it goes. He didn't sleeps with his gun. Why didn't he sleep with his gun? 

When Will's eyes finally focus there is Matthew in front of the door, hands up in mock-surrender.

“I come in peace..”

Will slumps back onto the sofa and sets the lamp back onto the side table. His heartbeat on the other hand takes time to calm back town and presses a hand over his eyes.

“I fell asleep,” he says, silently mortified. The one thing he could have sworn would not happen.

Matthew doesn't comment on finding him hugging his pillow. He lowers his hands, comes closer and crouches down to pet the dogs who demand his attention with wagging tails and little yips. Heather is the last to come but not for a lack of curiosity. Once the others left Matthew to go sniff their empty bowls instead she comes to him, tail wagging and sniffing his outstretched hand before she lets him pet her.

“Has she been alright? She didn't seem too happy when I left,” Matthew asks.

“She came around. I think she felt a lot safer once the others lost interest,” Will says and then ads: “And she likes you better than me.”

“So only three out of four dogs love you best. How sad.”

Will snorts.

“Oh shut up.” He finally stands up, stretches and winces when he notices his stiff neck. “Go spoil our guard dog, I need a shower.”

Will hopes he manged to turn before Matthew could see how flustered he is. He gathers some clothes from the dresser in his bedroom and quickly retreats to the bathroom to start the shower. 

Showering in the bathtub is always a bit awkward but Will doesn't care enough to throw it out and have the bathroom remodeled. The inconvenience is not big enough to really be worth it. Will closes the cheap plastic curtain with the blue dots and steps under the warm spray. For once the water is hot enough to loosen his stiff muscles and Will sighs in relief as the pain in his neck slowly melts away. 

Despite the initial discomfort upon waking up he feels more relaxed than he usually does in the mornings. Will knows enough biology to recognize a typical omegan response to a pack members smell when stressed. Turning to something familiar to calm himself had felt natural and that is the baffling thing, because those instincts usually are reserved for mates or close family and friends. Will has subconsciously placed Matthew in that category. He is unsuser what to do with that information.

Will lingers a bit longer than necessary within the misty warmth behind the shower curtain, trying to make sense of what happened. When nothing becomes any clearer he dries off and gets dressed quickly.

Matthew is still up when he reenters the living room, now smelling like shampoo and himself. Will takes the mug with fresh coffee he is handed and inhales deeply.

“None for you?” he asks after half of the coffee is gone. Matthew shakes his head.

“No, I want to take a nap. Drink your coffee.”

Will does, sitting at the table beneath the window and watches Matthew on the sofa with Heather's head in his lap and the other dogs sprawling across the floor between them.

“How was your first night at work?” he asks after a while, his head resting in his hand. He is unusually awake after a good night's sleep uninterrupted by nightmares.

Matthew keeps petting Heather, clearly as taken with her as she is with him and Will feels the slightest hint of jealousy 

“It was a bit boring but not too bad. I should bring a book next time. Or maybe I can bring one of the dogs, I should ask.”

“I bet Heather would love to tag along.”

Matthew's head shoots up at the suggestion, hands going still.

“No. Heather needs to keep Barlow off your back. That is why we got her. She needs to stay with you, Will.”

Will almost rolls his eyes.

“I am capable-” 

“I know, Will,” Matthew cuts him off, crosses the room in a few strides, crouches down in front of him, taking his left hand in both of his. “I know you can fight him off but you don't want me to kill him and he won't stop. And I promised you not to do anything you don't ask me to and I won't but please don't turn this down. Try if she can scare him off. Maybe it won't work and then we can see what there is left to do but until then don't make fun of staying safe.”

“You are being overprotective.”

Matthew kisses his hand, then rests his forehead against Will's knee. Will feels a lump in his throat.

“I don't want you to get hurt,” Matthew mumbles against his leg and Will sees how tired he looks. His hair is a bit longer than it used to. Not much, but Will cards his hand trough it once, then rests it on the back of his neck and squeezes lightly.

“Go get some rest, Matthew. I won't get hurt while you sleep, I am going to finish the boat.” 

Matthew hides his face against his leg for a bit longer, then nods silently and stands up to head to the bathroom. Will is out of the door before he comes back.

 

*

 

Working on the boat always calms Will down. It is a tiny wooden thing he bought second hand and needed so many repairs it would have been smarter to get a new one but now that it is almost finished Will is glad he didn't. Once everything is done he will have to figure out how to pay for a trailer or how to get it into the water whenever he feels like fishing. It is too heavy to lug it to the beach every time, even if Matthew would be willing to help. He would not be able to go far off the coast but two people and maybe a dog could spend a quiet afternoon on the water, if it ever came to that. Not that it really matters what Matthew thought of it. He already has an outboard motor fixed for it. This boat is his and his alone.

Will spends the week putting the last touches to it. He sands off what is left of the old coat of paint between Matthew sleeping off his night shifts and walking the dogs. He does a lot of the latter, more so as the week goes on. There is a new restlessness in him, an itch beneath his skin he can't reach that is only half familiar.

On Wednesday afternoon he starts to put on the new paint but gets distracted by Winston nosing his legs a few minutes in. Will puts the paintbrush aside to give the fluffy dog the attention he wants and ends up laying in the grass, Winston sprawled across his legs, Noodles flush against his side and Buster on his stomach. Heather lies out of reach but watches curiously, her tail wagging lazily.  
Will doesn't know how much time he spends like this, warm and content and wrapped up in his pack, when Matthew steps out of the house. He is fidgeting and Will lifts his head. Something isn't right.

“Should I go find a hotel?” Matthew asks and Will frowns. Not that Matthew isn't free to do what he wants with his time, but... Well, but.

“And why would you want to do that?”

Matthew's eyebrows rise.

“You are going into heat, Will,” he says. 

Will abruptly sits up, sending Buster sliding into Winston and making both dogs scramble off his lap. Will hardly notices, the blood rushing loudly in his ears.

“No.” He can't be going into heat because that hasn't happened since before Hannibal left his mark on him. When he was still able to have children. Will suddenly feels cold. Going into heat now again is a cruel joke.

Buster climbs back into his lap, whines and licks his face. Will doesn't push him away but does not react either. Instead his hand wanders to where the scar lies hidden beneath the worn fabric of his t-shirt. He can't. He doesn't want to. It is not fair. But when was life ever fair? An upcoming heat explains the nervous energy of the last days and the dogs always used to get clingy right before his heats in the past too. Dogs wanting to protect their Omega masters around a heat is a well known phenomena.

He doesn't notice Matthew coming closer and only looks up when the other speaks.

“Will? Do you want me to leave for a few days?” he asks again and Will shakes his head. 

“No.” He is not sure if he is ready to ask for this but at least Matthew won't judge him no matter what happens. He is an Omega too, he has no right to judge him for things said or done while in heat. Or at least Will hopes he won't. He licks his lips. What they have is good and now his body has to complicate everything. It is unfair. “Will you stay?”

Matthew goes to his knees, his eyes wide and fixed on Will, hands opening and closing like he doesn't know what to do with them. In the end he rests them on top of his knees.

“I won't disappoint you,” he promises and Will hugs Winston closer. Matthew will keep him save, he trusts him to do that, but the intensity of his feelings is intimidating. Will can't match that. He isn't sure if he wants to.

“Just be here when I need you to,” he says, half muffled against Winston until the dog starts licking his ear and Will twists out of the way and wipes the slobber off. He closes his eyes for a moment to collect himself, then looks back at Matthew. “If this one goes anything like the heats I used to have there is still time.”

“How long do you think?”

“Apart from the fact that I shouldn't be going into heat at all?” Will rakes a hand through his hair, wondering how noticeable his heat scent already is. A lot judging by the way Matthew squirms. Will is still thinking relatively clear, but that will change soon enough. “Maybe until tomorrow. Go to work, I know you have to leave soon and you can't just take a night off without notice.”

“I can't leave you now.”

“You can and you will. There is nothing for you to do yet.” Will huffs and pulls at one of his curls.   
“I am telling you this while I can still think for myself, yes? This will probably get ugly but not before tomorrow morning and I don't want you hovering until then. It will only drive me insane and I don't want to have to kick you out later.”

Matthew sucks in his lower lip and Will motions for the dogs to scatter. They don't go far, only barely out of reach and Will glares at them like they do it to spite him. It is not their fault and Will silently counts to ten before he speaks to Matthew again. He sounds bitterer than intended.

“Go. And then come back when you are done with your shift and see if you still want to put up with this mess, because I don't.” 

“Do you really want me to help you through this heat?”

Will sighs and pulls at his hair again. He wants to pull it out. He wants to crawl into Matthew's lap and stay there. He does neither. It is just hormones.

“Honestly? No. But I don't want to go through this alone and you are the only one I trust enough to let you stay. It is not like you could force a bond on me.” He means it to be comforting but the moment the words leave his mouth Will knows it is a cruel thing to say. He flinches. “Sorry.”

“Don't be sorry, Mr Graham.” Matthew's smile has gone soft. A little sad too and Will feels guilt settle like lead in his stomach. He got used to Matthew calling him by his first name. 

“I will make this heat good for you.”

Matthew pushes himself to his feet and pats the grass from his legs, the sad smile still in place.  
“I will be back as soon as I can. Take care.”

And then he is off, the car engine starting shortly after and Will does not know what to do with himself.

 

*

 

Will needs to move. As soon as he trusts his legs again he stands up and starts tidying up the yard. He cleans the paintbrush in turpentine to use again later and puts away the can of paint. Feeding the dogs only takes a few minutes and he makes himself a grilled-cheese sandwich and then another when he is still hungry after the first. He is not panicking, he tells himself. Matthew will be back, he promised, and he will call him by his name again. This is nothing to be anxious about.

He tries to read but can't concentrate and abandons the book to start pacing again. He goes out back, tries to get Heather to let him pet her and fails. There is a dull ache in his lower belly and Will returns to the house to brew some tea, then forgets to drink it while he cleans the shotgun, makes sure it is loaded and places it on the kitchen table. He feels ridiculous.

Around midnight Will knows he made a mistake by sending Matthew off. The heat is coming on quicker than he thought and gathers all the pillows and blankets he can find to pile them on his bed. It is not enough to calm him. He feels a first dribble of slick slide down his leg and takes a cold shower. It only helps for a few minutes, then he is pacing again without bothering to get dressed. His jeans seem too stifling to put back on and he catches himself raiding the laundry basket for one of Matthew's worn t-shirt to pull over his head. He knows he should be disgusted with himself but it makes it easier to think. He heads back to his bedroom, then stops and retrieves a bottle of water and the handgun he shouldn't have kept after he quit the FBI. It is loaded and he puts it on the bedside table when he worms beneath the heap of blankets on his bed again. It feels good for only a few minutes, then he gets too hot and kicks them off. That is no good either because being exposed means he isn't safe. He needs an Alpha. He needs someone. He is alone and starts arranging the pillows into something more comfortable. Will buries his face in the blanket he got from the couch and inhales deeply. That at least helps settle the ache in his chest for while.

The curtains are still closed from where he didn't bother to open them this morning, gently swaying with every breeze coming in. It is dark and quiet and Will feels a tight coil of heat in his belly. His hips start lazily rutting against a bunched up pillow. Will dozes.

It is still dark when Will hears Heather growl and bark outside the bedroom window. His mind is hazy and for a moment he thinks it might be Hannibal. The other dogs are silent but Heather wouldn't know him and Will whines low in his throat, a needy sound he should be embarrassed of. Maybe Hannibal came for him. Maybe he is good enough after all, if not to give him children then at least to give him his heat. He wants to. He wants...

Winston starts barking too, then Buster and Noodles and something gets knocked over in the garden, followed by more deep growling and a swear, then hastily retreating steps. Will stares into the dark and starts shivering. Not Hannibal, someone else had been out there, maybe as close as the window. The sudden rush of fear clears his head and he sits up, still shaking like a leaf. The wetness between his cheeks suddenly feels tacky. Will rummages through the bedside table for a tissue and wipes himself clean, then stand up on unsteady legs and finds a clean pair of boxer shorts to put on. He drinks some water from the bottles, sits back down and silently calls for Winston. A few moments later the dog pads into the room, tail wagging and jumps onto the bed. Will hugs him and fights down a sob.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “Thank you.”

Dogs are so much easier to deal with. All they want are food and some kindness, he thinks and pets Winston until he can think again. He then stands up and goes to the kitchen to eat some fruit. He knows that sleep won't come, so better eat something as long as he can. The back door is open and Will freezes. It's okay, he reminds himself. He left it open for the dogs earlier but the thought that the Alpha on the porch could have come just as easy makes his knees weak. Careless. He should have known better but it happened anyway. His dogs kept him save. He will get them something really nice once his heat is over.

Will sits down at the kitchen table, one hand on the shotgun and the other on his lower belly. Matthew will see the scar. Maybe he won't care or at least don't say anything but there is no way he won't notice. It is still better than being alone. His heats have never been easy and there is nothing normal about this one that shouldn't even be happening. 

Will squirms in his seat and looks out of the window and onto the dark street. His head is starting to feel like it is stuffed with cotton again and he has already soaked through the fabric of his boxers. He lifts the t-shirt to his face and sniffs. Matthew will be back soon. He only has to make until morning, then Matthew will make everything better. He promised.

 

*

 

Matthew knows something is wrong the moment he sees people gathered in front of the house. Not a crowd, eight or ten at most, but their presence makes Matthew's skin prickle. It is too early, the sun barely up, they shouldn't be out.  
He honks, pulls into the driveway and jumps out of the car before he can think about anything but Will being in danger. His hand goes to find the knife he keeps on his person at all times but there are too many people, he cannot kill them all, not even for Will whom he shouldn't have left alone at all. His mind is racing. He should have insisted on staying, should have been there to protect him. He should...

There is a shot and gasps from the small crowd and only then does Matthew register what is happening. 

The people are some of their neighbors and not there for Will but to try and get Mr Barlow to leave. The Alpha is right on the property line, reeking of pheromones and completed ignoring everything but Will. Will who, Matthew now finally notices, is standing in front of the door in nothing but a pair of boxers and a t-shirt with the shotgun to his shoulder and the barrel trained on the Alpha, the dogs barking behind him in the house. His teeth are bared, his hair sweaty and his eyes fevered. He looks feral. Matthew is in love.

“Take one more step and I blow out your brains. One step. I dare you,” Will says through gritted teeth. He hasn't noticed Matthew yet, attention on the immediate threat in front of him. Mrs Jackson from across the street grips her husband's arm but Mr Barlow stays where he is, the warning shot only enough to keep him in place for the moment, not to make him leave.

Matthew takes the shopping bag out of the car, steps onto the sad excuse of a lawn in front of the house and puts the groceries onto the ground for the moment. He will need them later but having his hands free is a priority.

“Will,” he says and the older Omega twitches. For a second the shotgun is trained on him until Will keens and slowly lowers the it. 

“Matthew.”

He can smell him from where he stands now, all sweet and inviting and entirely indecent. Paired with the loaded weapon on his hands it makes Matthew's knees weak. What he said to him yesterday is forgiven. Will Graham is beautiful.

There is movement to his left: Matthew throws himself at Mr Barlow when the Alpha tries to sneak past him to get at Will. Barlow lands a punch in his face before Matthew twists his arm on his back and kicks him in the back of his knees. The Alpha goes down with a grunt and Matthew barely manages to restrain himself from dislocating his shoulder when wrenching it back. Matthew is kneeling on his back, trusting his weight to keep him down. He wants to kill and rip him to pieces for even thinking of touching Will but there are people and he promised not to.

“You will go now, Mr Barlow, or I will call the police. I am sure everyone here will tell them that Mr Graham here doesn't want you anywhere near him. Fuck off and leave us alone,” he snarls, blood dripping from his nose and shoves the man away onto the street. Barlow stumbles and curses but finally leaves. Matthew wipes the blood from his face, picks up the bag again and nearly trips over his own feet running to the door.

“Will!”

Will nearly melts into him when Matthew cups his face and buries his nose in his hair. He smells like heaven and Matthew kept him waiting too long. He opens the door and pulls Will inside by the waist.

 

*

 

Will lets the shotgun clatter to the floor the moment the door closes behind them. He can't think and he is too hot and his skin itches beneath his clothes but now Matthew is there only not close enough.

He noses against his neck and whines. Matthew fought off an Alpha and won and he smells like home and safety. Will gives little kitten-licks to Matthew's neck that make the other Omega shiver. Will tugs on Matthew's t-shirt until the other takes mercy and pulls it off over his head, followed by Will's shirt and he finally gets some actual skin-to-skin contact. He sighs happily and then moans when he presses closer, feeling the bulge in Matthew's pants. He rubs his own erection against it and shivers. This is what he what he has been aching for: warm skin against his own to distract him from the burning beneath.

“Come to bed, Will,” Matthew says, voice thick and Will can't anything but follow when he takes his hand and tugs him deeper into the house. It is an awkward backwards waddle with Will's lips still attached to his neck; licking, sucking, and nibbling and being impossibly distracting.

Somehow they manage to make it to the bedroom without tripping over any worried dogs. Once inside Matthew kicks the door shut to keep any nosy canines out. 

The morning light is dimmed by the closed curtains and Will wonders for a second if Matthew has ever been in this room. Not on any occasion Will could remember. Seeing the younger Omega here in his most private space is enough to make him whimper, low and needy.

Matthew guides him down until Will lies on his back with his feet placed on the floor, his hips right on the edge of the bed. Will wants to protest because he wants more touch, wants him closer and kiss him but then Matthew goes to his knees between his legs and Will sucks in his breath as warm hands skim up the inside of his tights.

“I will make this so good for you,” Matthew promises before he presses a kiss to the inside of Will's knee. He carefully lifts Will's hip enough to peel off the damp boxers down his legs and let them fall to the floor. Will's cock lies half hard against his belly and he shivers at the sudden touch of air.

“Matthew.”

“Hush, Mr Graham.”

At the sound of the name Will first goes stiff, then starts to shiver. He said something insulting to Matthew yesterday, that much he remembers but what exactly he can't recall. Something bad, something that made him leave in a hurry, that made him stop using his first name. He is panicking.

“Please, Matthew, please don't be mad. I am sorry, Matthew,” Will begs, head turned to the side to look down at him, pleading and utterly miserable. Matthew shifts closer, leaning onto the mattress and takes his outstretched hand.

“What are you apologizing for? I am not mad at you. You were so brave, Mr Graham, fighting off that Alpha, waiting for me.” He kisses the palm of Will's hand and finds his gaze. Will looks desperate but for more than just touch. 

“Please use my name again. I will be good, I promise,” he pleads and Matthew swallows then nuzzles his cheek into the palm of the hand he is still holding.

“You have been nothing but good. So brave. Standing out there like an avenging angel burning with righteous fury. You deserve to be worshiped, Will.”

Will nearly melts into the mattress at the sound of his name, then whimpers and bucks his hips. It is so hard to think but Matthew isn't mad and uses his name again and touches him and that is almost everything he wants. Only that it is not nearly enough. He shifts his hand from Matthew's cheek to the back of his neck and tugs. Matthew scrambles up the bed, hoists a leg over Will's hip and carefully sits down, Will's cock nestled against his ass. Matthew is still wearing his jeans and the fabric feels like sandpaper on Will's oversensitive skin. This won't do, he needs something inside him. His hole clenches around nothing and he shivers.

“Off,” he demands while holding Matthew in place with a hand resting on the back of his head at the same time. Matthew chuckles and kisses his forehead.

“We will figure this out.”

Will growls in frustration and bites down on Matthew's shoulder hard enough to hurt but not to draw blood.

“Now!”

Matthew climbs off again, a bit stiffly and wiggles out of his jeans before he settles next to him and then nudges Will's hip.

“Roll over.”

Will hurries to obey, nearly knocking the other off the bed in the process of getting onto his knees, ass up, back arched and chest pressed onto the mattress. It is instinct, the way he would present himself to an Alpha about to claim him but the pose still coming natural. Being claimed by Matthew wouldn't be too bad, he thinks. He would take good care of him.

Matthew rests a hand on the small of his back as Will shivers in anticipation. For a beat nothing further happens, just warm, promising touch. Will tries his best not to squirm and fails. Suddenly he feels Matthew's breath on his skin and his tongue on his hole and Will's jaw goes slack, a tiny moan escaping his lips. Matthew uses his hands to spread his cheeks and drags his tongue in slow, broad strokes across the wrinkled skin. Will bites the pillow as Matthew makes liquid lightning shoot through his veins.

Matthew closes his eyes, completely concentrated on the task at hand, reveling in the musky heat-scent, giving Will the pleasure he deserves. He is already loose and there is nearly no resistance when Matthew dips his tongue inside. 

Will grips the sheet, muscles taut and quivering. It is still not enough but feels so good, he wants more but doesn't want Matthew to stop either. Matthew drags his fingers through the slick threatening to drip down onto the bed again and pushes two fingers into Will instead of his tongue. Will gasps and pushes back his hip for more. Two fingers aren't nearly enough to sate him but they are a start. He turns his head to look back at Matthew and sucks in his bottom lip. Matthew looks at him with so much adoration it makes him dizzy and he has to close his eyes. People do not look at him like this, they never do.

Matthew shifts closer, half draping himself over Will's back while another finger joins the first two and kisses his shoulder blade. The warm weight on his back makes him sag down, his legs too shaky already to support them both. Matthew shifts again to slowly stroke Will's cock with his free hand. Will bites into the nearest pillow again to stifle his moan. 

Hannibal could have it had all, Will can't help but think. This and more. Will as a mate. His children. In the end he hadn't wanted to, leaving Will to die next to what should have been their daughter instead. Somewhere, through the haze of lust, Will feels like crying. He had wanted that family Hannibal kept dangling in front of his nose, wanted it badly. That opportunity has passed.

His body is screaming to be bred and it is not fair, neither to himself nor Matthew. Even if he was an Alpha Will would not be able to give him children. He wants to give Matthew what he needs, he wants to love him the way the other loves him but that is not something he can promise.

Matthew's fingers brush past an especially sensitive spot inside of him and Will stops thinking. Hturns his head again, panting.

“Matthew, please...”

“Shh... It's alright, I will make you feel good, Will, so good.”

“Matt...”

Matthew shivers at the nickname and works a fourth finger into Will who stubbornly bites the pillow again. It is almost enough, almost.

“Let me help you.”

Will's whole body shudders, too hot and too itchy to do anything but move his hips to get more friction. He is burning up from the inside but having Matthew by his side makes it better than the few lonely heats he used to spend locked up alone with a few toys. No toy can compare with the feeling of human skin and the hot puffs of breath against his neck. He is still sweaty but the slick seeping into the sheets barely registers.

“Feels so good, Matty,” he mumbles into the pillow, damp from drooling onto the fabric. “So good.”

He can't help the whine escaping his throat the moment the widest part of Matthew's hand slips past the tight ring of muscle. It is too much. His eyes roll back. Matthew kisses the scar on his abdomen and Will isn't sure whats real anymore. 

He comes with a sob to the vivid mental image of the scar being ripped open from the inside and spilling his guts out onto the sheets, clenching around Matthew's wrist. He collapses, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead, shivering and weak. It is then that he really starts crying. No cute little sniffles but gross, desperate sobbing. Matthew still wiggles closer until Will's back is flush against his chest, one hand still stuck inside him until his body lets him go.

“I've got you,” Matthew breathes and for the first time Will becomes aware of Matthew's erection against his backside. It makes him feel horribly selfish but Matthew catches his hand when Will tries to reach around and jerk him off at least.

“Shh. It's alright, don't worry about that.”

Will is still crying and the come on his belly still feels like cooling blood but he believes him. Matthew never lied to him.

 

*

 

Will startles awake when Matthew pulls out his hand. He still feels the heat deep in his bones but is aware enough not to freak out when Matthew leaves the room for a few minutes to clean up and come back with some snacks. He makes Will sit up and drink a bit of water, then feeds him a protein bar and some orange slices. Once his is done eating he crawls back into Matthew's arms and dozes for a while. It is nice, being cared for, Will thinks.

The fog starts creeping back into his mind shortly after but things are a bit easier to bear. Will shoves Matthew back into the already half destroyed nest he built earlier and rides him until Matthew shoves in some fingers alongside his cock and Will comes again, this time without hallucinating.

It is a short one, this heat. The worst of it is over by next morning. Will keeps napping with Matthew close by while the sun rises, a reminder that the world outside hasn't stopped but goes on like nothing happened. Will can't decide if the thought is calming or unsettling and cards a hand through Matthew's hair instead. 

They lie next to each other, legs intertwined and Will's forehead resting against the others chest. Will sleeps some more, lets Matthew feed him eggs and toast and finds himself craving a steak he knows he wouldn't be able to keep down. The dogs are fed and let out and Will pulls Matthew back to bed for another, less fevered round of sex until about noon.

When he mentions how sticky he feels Matthew gets up to draw him a bath. Will follows some time later, naked and loose limbed to find the small bathroom smelling like something hard to identify. Maybe cedar wood, he never cared much for fancy bath products catering to Omegas but the gesture is sweet and he sinks into the clawfooted tub with a pleased groan. The water feels cooler than it probably is but nice against his still hot skin and the bubbles are soft and a bit of a novelty. As is taking an actual bath in his tub, usually Will only showers. He is not someone to pamper himself, not even post heat. His dogs maybe, for putting up with being neglected for a few days.

“Should I go?” Matthew asks. Will shakes his head, eyes still closed and chewing on his bottom lip.

“Stay, please.”

There is the sound of bare feet on the cracked tile floor and Matthew crouches down next to his head. The room is too small for him to get behind Will with the tub taking up all of the back wall.

“Can I wash your hair?”

Will hums and lazily drags a hand through the soapy water. The bubbles feel like clouds.

“You may.”

Matthew straightens, takes one of the cups from the sink and quickly rinses it before he dips it into the tub to fill with soapy water. Will slides forward a bit and tips back his head. He knows he has to smell terrible for any outsider. Like come and two days unshowered, his hair a sweaty, limp mess. 

Matthew pours warm water over it, one hand shielding Will's face from getting wet. A bottle of shampoo pops open. The moment Matthew starts to massage the shampoo into his scalp Will's legs go weak and he nearly slips underwater, only catching himself in the last second. He shifts and relaxes back into the touch. It is possible he falls asleep for a while, drifting away on a warm cloud smelling of cedar wood and Matthew, pure bliss radiating from his scalp. Only when the movements stop does he sluggishly blink his eyes open.

“Why did you stop?” Will murmurs. His head rests against the side of the tub and blinks up at Matthew who smiles that strange half smile of his.

“Sorry.”

Will shrugs and sits up straighter and lets Matthew rinse the suds out of his hair. He feels a bit bad for having the other sit on the floor for who knows how long already. He has to be cold.

“Why don't you come in?” he asks, for moment taken aback by the request himself. This is not hormones talking anymore and he still wants Matthew that close. Interesting.

The younger Omega looks at him with big eyes, then smiles and gets up from his kneeling position, his movements a bit stiff from staying still for too long. Will scoots forward to make room. The bubbles are mostly gone but the water is still warm enough to stay in for a while longer, maybe enough to get Matthew warmed back up. Water splashes onto the floor and the tub feels a bit crowded with two grown men in it but once they arrange themselves with Will between Matthew's legs and his back settled against the other's chest it becomes comfortable. This is maybe the nicest come-down from a heat Will ever had, being warm and cared for.

Will lets his head rest against Matthew's shoulder and lifts one of the other's hands out of the water using both of his. He slowly turns Matthew's hand over, studying it. He has strong hands, hands that have killed before and made him come apart only hours earlier. Hands that will kill again some day but maybe not for a long time to come. Not people Will genuinely cares about, not that there are a lot of those left. He thinks about Beverly who used to be easy company without ever making him feel uncomfortable. About loosing Abigail twice. Will tries to imagine Matthew doing the same Hannibal did to him and can't. Not to Will. He lets go of Matthew's hand and sighs.

“When I first woke up from the coma the doctors told me that I would never again be able to have children. That Hannibal had made sure of that when he drove that knife into me. They also said I was going through bond withdrawal.” Will feels Matthew go still behind him but cannot keep the bitter edge out of his voice. “Some half formed hormonal bond that shouldn't have taken at all, but was still real enough to make me even more miserable. And now I got a heat to mock me because I am broken and still have to go through them again.” 

Will takes a shaky breath. Maybe Matthew will leave after this but Will needs to say those things out loud. Just this once, where someone will hear. 

“When I called Hannibal that night I hadn't decided yet what I would do. I just called him. I deliberated while the phone rang. I decided when I heard his voice. I told him to run and I went to his house. Because I wanted to run away with him. Hannibal didn't just leave me, he left me to die with an incomplete bond to finish what his knife couldn't because he felt betrayed.”

He concentrates on the steady rise and fall of Matthew's chest behind him. Matthew circles his arms around his chest and Will waits.

“And yet here you are. Alive.”

Will can feel the words vibrate through them both and swallows the lump in his throat.

“Here I am.”

Hands shift down his torso and stop. Matthew's fingers hover above the angry red scar tissue and Will's breath hitches when they touch the damaged skin. His constant reminder of failure, of not being good enough. Not loyal enough. He is not over Hannibal and will maybe never be.

“I am not going to leave you, Will,” Matthew says, his hands settling over the scar, warm and protective. “I want to keep you safe, thought you don't need me for that. You should have seen yourself, standing out in front of the house, daring that disgusting Alpha to come and court death. You are a force of nature, Will Graham, and I pity those who dare stand in your way.” He noses Will's wet hair. “Do you regret asking me for help?”

“No. But do you want to stay with me now that you know I am half tied to someone else? It may not be a full bond but it won't go away either. There is nothing I can promise you, Matthew.”

“I will take what you have to offer. All of it.” 

Matthew kisses the top of his head and Will feels a sudden surge of affection for the other Omega. The thing is, that he slowly starts believing him when Matthew says thing like this. Not completely yet but he might get there in time.

Will half twists around to catch Matthew's lips and painfully bangs his knee on the side of the tub. The angle is awkward and their teeth click together. It's awful as kisses go but Matthew hums and pulls him close so that Will has to turn fully. He ends up more or less sitting on Matthew's lap because the tub is too small and he doesn't want the faucet to dig into his back. They kiss again and this time it is sweet and slow, Matthew's hands framing Will's hips. He nibbles Matthew's bottom lip, then lets go of it and sits back, one hand on the other's chest.

“Do you still think of us as hawks?” 

He watches Matthew's lips curl up and feels a smile tug at his own.

“More than ever, Will. Yesterday I saw you stretch your wings and when the time comes you will do it again. I know you will, because I see you. The same way you see me,” he says and Will feels a bit overwhelmed. But Matthew is not Hannibal, is too honest in his affection to manipulate Will in the same way. He doesn't answer, not with words but lays back against Matthew's chest.

They stay in the bath until the water turns cold.

 

*

 

Sometimes Matthew crawls into bed with Will after his shift, protectively curling around him, but there are also days when Will can't stand more than casual touches. Those days are usually followed by nightmares. Sometimes Will cannot sleep at all and spends the night sitting in the living room, wrapped in Matthew's blanket and waits for the morning to come. Those nights are bad. 

There are good days too, days when Will leans over and kisses Matthew while sitting side by side on the beach, the dogs playing nearby. Staring out onto the Atlantic always makes him feel like he is standing at the edge of the world, one step away from falling over the edge into nothingness but Matthew is solid and warm beside him, the anchor he needs for the time being.

He may not be in love but Will feels better with Matthew around. More like himself and less like Hannibal's creature. He also may be falling for Matthew with his strong hands and sweet smiles and a darkness matching what Will finds buried inside himself, a sleeping beast for now he doesn't dare wake by thinking too hard about it. Matthew also has patience. They are doing okay.

What Will is less okay with is Mr Barlow starting to bother him again only a few weeks after he had to point the shotgun at him. He hasn't gone as far as jerking off on their porch again but Will meets him suspiciously often when running errands. One day he corners Will in the coffee isle until Will grits his teeth and shoulders past him. The Alpha still follows him until he gets into his car and drives off. Those encounters never fail to make Will furious and often enough lead to bad nights. It is more than annoying.

 

*

 

Will is napping next to Matthew when he hears the dogs stir followed by a knock at the front door. He gestures for Matthew to stay in bed, glad he didn't bother undressing after coming back from playing with the dogs outside. He pads over to the living room on bare feet, makes sure he has a weapon near by in case it is Mr Barlow again, herds the dogs back and opens the door. He relaxes when he sees that it is old Mrs Hamil, a gray haired little Omega lady pushing ninety who lives next to the Johnson's on the other side of the street. They exchanged a few words when Will first moved here but not since then. This is odd. People don't just come and visit him. Before Will can ask what she wants she thrusts some pie into his hands, still warm from the oven and smiles.

“I hope you and your young man like apple and cranberry, Mr Grant.” 

Will nods in confusion, awkwardly holding the pie and using one leg to block Winston from wiggling past him. He would probably knock her over in his enthusiasm to greet strangers. Mrs Hamil straightens her back, and Will has the feeling he agreed to something unspoken by accepting the pie. 

“Now can I maybe ask you for a little favor under neighbors, my dear? My car won't start and I heard you fix motors so maybe you can help an old woman? I am sure it is nothing complicated, the old thing started just fine yesterday but now it doesn't.”

Will considers handing back the pie but can't bring himself to do so. Mrs Hamil looks like a strong wind could knock her over and he doesn't have the heart to send her away. She reminds him a bit of his own nana before cancer took her.

“I can't take the pie and not take a look at your car, can I?” Will says and Mrs Hamil looks relieved. 

“Just let me put the pie away and get my tools, I will be there in a few minutes.”

“Thank your, dear.”

 

*

 

Will spends a good part of the afternoon beneath the hood of Mrs Hamil's car which she had thankfully left outside in the driveway instead of the dimly lit garage when she parked it the day before. The old lady sits near by on a lawn chair - a bit too skeptical to let a near stranger alone with her car – and tells him how the car never made any trouble when her husband was still around to look after it. She then goes on about her garden and the time last year she had to chase a raccoon out of her kitchen with a broom because her oldest great-granddaughter left the door open. He nods along, only half listening while trying to figure out what is wrong with the engine.

At one point they see Mr Barlow walk down the street – to an early poker night as Mrs Hamil supplies – who luckily doesn't notice Will. An hour later he wipes his hands on an old towel and experimentally twists the key in the ignition. The engine starts with a deep, satisfying rumble.

“Oh, thank you,” the old lady cries, clapping her hands. When she gestures for him to help her up Will turns off the engine and obliges, handing her back the keys while doing so. She pats his hand, her skin dry as paper and Will sees her asking for help again in the future. He is not sure if he should be unhappy about it or not.

“Help me set up the table and we can have some ice tea,” she says, not asking if he wants to and the next thing he knows Will is setting a pitcher onto the little table in her backyard, unsure how this happened. The air smells like the flowers in her garden and smoke.

“Oh dear, is someone having a barbecue again?”

There is thick black smoke rising above the street. Will turns his head and freezes, hand still on the handle of the pitcher. 

“I don't think that is a barbecue. Excuse me.”

He thinks of Matthew coming home smelling like campfire after his runs. He sprints around the house towards the street, past the garage and the car parked in front of it. 

Flames lick out of the windows and up the walls of Mr Barlow's house. There are sparks in the air and people on the street in front of their homes, staring at the flames and talking among themselves. He can't see Matthew anywhere amongst them and it terrifies him. Will can't loose him, neither to fire nor the police and he doesn't know which thought is worse.

He turns, searching, jumps aside to let the firetruck through and finally spots Matthew walking out of their door, wearing nothing but a pair of striped pajama pants and Will is across the street and in his arms before he has time to think. Will clings to him, the panic subsiding and breathes him in. 

Matthew smells of gasoline and smoke.

“What have you done, Matthew?” Will breathes against his neck, just loud enough for Matthew to hear. He pushes Will off enough to see into his face and smiles.

“I have set us free, Will. He won't bother you anymore, promise. He will have a lot of explaining to do for his insurance and then he will be gone, gone forever and leave you alone.”  
Will breathes. He closes his eyes and _sees_.

_He listens to Will gathering his toolbox and knows this is the best chance he will get. A quick glance at the clock on his phone and he knows Barlow will leave for his weekly poker round shortly. This is the time. If anything should go wrong Will has both an alibi and the ability to claim he didn't know what Matthew was planning. He will be safe either way._

_Once Will leaves the house he gets out of bed, suddenly wide awake, his skin alive and humming with energy. He changes into a set of clothes he won't miss if he has to get rid of them, stuffs everything he needs into his pockets while avoiding any windows. Once in the living room he feeds the dogs some treats to keep them quiet and slips out of the backdoor, quickly passing through the open space of the yard._

_He walks the other way first, away from Barlow's house, taking the long path towards the beach, then disappears between the trees separating the gardens from the sea. He is alert, watching for every sign of anyone seeing him and makes his slow way back to the house hidden among green leafs. He has time. It wouldn't do to set the fire too early and he needs to be undisturbed for this. The Alpha doesn't deserve to live on the same street as Will. He doesn't deserve to breath the same air as him. He needs to vanish from their lives._

_Matthew crouches down between some shrubs a few yard away from the fence and waits._

_When Barlow leaves through the front he lets ten more minutes pass, then slips on a pair of purple nitrile gloves, opens the gate and moves into the overgrown mess the Alpha calls his backyard. Neglect and high fences make it easy to reach the backdoor without being seen. He makes quick work of the lock, having experience enough, and goes inside._

_The door connecting the living area with the garage is to his left and unlocked. People never lock doors hidden behind other locked doors. Careless but handy._

_He takes the spare canister of fuel from the garage and carries it into the living room, looking around with mild disgust. He cannot kill the man but he can make him leave. Matthew sets up what he needs to make the firefighters suspicious of arson, enough to make them suspect Barlow. He will be found guilty of insurance fraud._

_In the kitchen he finds a box of matches and his heart beats faster. Fire always fascinated him, got him in trouble too in the past but he has grown since then. He has Will to look out for, he can't get caught again. This is not for his personal enjoyment, no matter how much the mere thought makes his blood sing._

_He lights a match with trembling fingers and sets some paper to smolder to buy himself time. He scurries out the back and blinks when he notices how low the sun hangs in the sky. He took longer than anticipated._

_His heart is racing, waiting for the flames to consume everything but the fire won't reach the gasoline drenched sofa for a few minutes and he makes it back to their home in time. Inside he quickly changes into pajamas bottoms, throws the clothes into the washing machine, ruffles his hair to look the part of having only just woken. He is ready. He needs to see for himself. He needs to see Will's reaction. This is for him._

Will's eyes are wet and sting from the smoke while he is looking at Matthew. The need to _protect_ is echoing in his chest. This is his. His present. For the moment he can't disentangle his own feelings from Matthew's, he feels proud, loved, protective. Will wants to kiss him but can't not right now, not with everyone potentially watching, that would be suspicious so he does the next best thing: He turns, Matthew's arm around his waist and breathlessly watches the force of nature Matthew unleashed in his name. On the edge of his vision he sees Mr Barlow screaming at one of the firefighters and all he feels is satisfaction. The Alpha deserves whatever is coming for him.  
Matthew's grip around his waist tightens. Will lets himself be pulled in, somehow managing to not let his face show the awe he feels. The love.

They watch the fire die but not before taking everything within it's reach. The house, the garage with the car still inside. Destruction and chaos. Will feels alive with his head against Matthew's.

“I accept your gift,” he whispers in Matthew's ear before slipping out of his arms and grasping his hand, pulling to make him follow. The street is emptying with everyone returning to their homes with the danger of the fire spreading banned and they can't allow themselves to stand out too much. They can't be the couple staying out too long to watch the disaster unfold.

Will feels his skin prickle under Matthew's gaze until they close the door behind them, safe behind the walls of their little house. The dogs swarm them, whining and scared and Will feels bad for not thinking of them, for not even registering when they must have barked themselves hoarse. He lets go of Matthew's hand to kneel down for a moment, pet the dogs and reassure them. Just enough to show he is alright. They don't settle but are not panicking anymore and any messes can be cleaned up later.

He stands back up and turns to look at Matthew who stares at him, eyes dark. Outside the sun is setting and painting the room a deep, glowing red. Will takes Matthew's face in both his hands.

“I said, I accept your gift, Matthew,” he breathes into the space between them, kisses first one corner of his mouth, then the other. Matthew's breath hitches. “I accept it, and I cherish it. As I do you.”

His lips fully find Matthew's then, slow at first, then more demanding. Will's hands fist into his hair as he backs him against the wall. He is hungry for touch, starved for how alive he feels since watching the flames take revenge on another Alpha trying to make him theirs, not caring about what he wants. Only what he could be for them. Matthew could have killed the man, could have laid the fire at night when Barlow was asleep or passed out, but he didn't. Because Will asked him not to.

Matthew's hands shift beneath the back of his t-shirt and Will growls, pressing a knee between Matthew's legs. They haven't touched like this since the last echoes of his heat faded, nothing more than cuddles and some kisses. Now, having Matthew in front of him, all pliant and naked up from the waist, feels elevating.

“I feel like I can breath again,” he gasps between kisses. “Like I am coming back alive.”

He is straddling Matthew's leg, his right arm moving to find purchase on the wall next to him while he starts lazily rutting against his hip. Matthew feels hot and alive against him. Real. Will nips at his ear and Matthew's fingernails dig into his back in response.

“You don't belong behind bars, not even those of your own mind. I always knew you need to be free and if I can help you... If I can help you...” Matthew tries, his voice dying when Will sucks on his earlobe. 

“You do help me. You help me so much, Matthew,” Will pants, his teeth sinking into the spot beneath Matthew's ear. He wants to mark him, wants to make sure no-one ever takes Matthew away from him. Matthew lets him. He is Will's, has been since day one and Will is finally ready to accept what is offered. He is going to claim him.

His hips speed up, moving roughly against Matthew's. His left hand scratches down Matthew's bare chest, leaving bright red trails on it's way over his taut stomach and beneath the waistband. His fingers close around Matthew's cock, already wet with precome. It's tantalizing. Silky, hot skin beneath his fingers, the rough friction of his jeans separating him from Matthew's hip, the desperate little sounds the other makes. There is nothing gentle about any of this. He doesn't need to be, he is claiming what is his.

“Come for me, Matttew,” Will hisses, tightening his grip a fraction while speeding up. Matthew goes still for a second, then nearly sobs when he comes in hot spurts over his hand. It only takes a few moments longer for Will's movements to stutter, slumping against Matthew and sinking his teeth into the meaty part of his shoulder while he comes too. He only lets go when he starts tasting blood. Will feels sticky and messy but he is panting against Matthew's neck, wrapped up in his scent, gently kissing the claiming bite. Will pulls his hand out from Matthew's pants and wipes the come carelessly on the other's bare stomach. He feels calmer, more grounded than since before Hannibal. It is a novel feeling and Will basks in it.

Will turns his head, looking at Matthew and sees him smile. It is a tired, awed thing and entirely charming. Matthew lifts his hand, slowly as if not to spook Will and touches the bite wound, fascination clear in his face. He is lovely like this. And he won't leave.

Will kisses Matthew's forehead, then both his cheeks.

“Lets get cleaned up, yes?” he asks, the tiniest smile on his lips. “And then come to bed.”

“As you wish.”

Will blinks, then laughs and nudges Matthew's biceps.

“Are you quoting the fucking Princess Bride at me?”

Matthew looks up through his lashes, a little bit sheepish.

“Maybe? Would it be bad if I did?” he asks.

Will shakes his head, still smiling. He feels light, almost euphoric. Like there is a future ahead of him despite everything that happened. A future he would like Matthew to part of if they can make it work. He thinks that maybe they can.

“Just come to bed.”

Will takes his hand and Matthew follows.

**Author's Note:**

> There will possibly be some kind of sequel because I have some scenes left I really want to write but there is not a lot of actual plot connecting them yet so it might only be a oneshot. 
> 
> If you want to see me rambling about writing and a lot of random blogging, visit my [tumblr](http://cucumber-of-doom.tumblr.com/) because that's where the cool kids are.


End file.
